


The Case of the Surprising Spirits.

by moth2fic



Series: The Malfoy Connection [5]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Gen, Ghost story. Halloween. rpf ghosts.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 04:08:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5115263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moth2fic/pseuds/moth2fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are ghosts preying on Oxford's tourists. Lewis and Hathaway need to sort the real from the hoaxers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Surprising Spirits.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LJ lewis_challenge comm's Halloween 'Fright Fest' challenge, October 2015.  
> Many thanks to Fictionwriter for rapid and helpful beta.

"How would you know," said James, "if a ghost was really a ghost?"

Two sets of eyes looked at him with degrees of confusion. Hermione had taken to dropping in when she visited her 'aunt' and Draco had dropped in to give James a lesson in magic. The lesson had not materialised because Draco and Hermione were too busy arguing with each other about something called kneazles and their behaviour, but now James had managed to unite them in bewilderment. Robbie was not there or James felt sure he would understand the question but be unable to answer any more than he could himself.

"Ghosts are ghosts," said Draco and Hermione nodded. 

"But we have some ghosts in Oxford that aren't ghosts," James explained.

"You aren't making sense." Draco sighed. 

"They approach tourists and offer to guide them round landmarks. Then they steer the conversation so that it becomes clear that they are presenting themselves as ghosts appropriate to the setting –Humfrey Duke of Gloucester near the Bodleian, for example, albeit in modern dress. Once they have a sufficiently intrigued and interested audience they set off waving a pamphlet or an umbrella then put it down and lose themselves in the crowds or the alleyways, so that they appear to vanish, but not before their confederates have picked the pockets of all their listeners."

"And people believe them?" Hermione sounded dubious.

"Whether they do or not, the effect is the same," said James. "They listen, and the pickpocket does their work. I though perhaps if there was a way to tell instantly, we could create some kind of warning poster and people could call them on their faking before any harm was done."

"I can't imagine real ghosts doing that, to begin with," said Draco, "but you can't very well tell people that someone offering a lecture or guided walk isn't going to be a real ghost because that..."

"...presupposes," interrupted Hermione, "a belief in real ghosts and we don't particularly want to encourage the general population."

They both looked at James, clearly assuming he'd understand, which he did, but he still wanted a sure way to tell the difference, something that really could be shared with tourists without giving away the existence of real ghosts in their midst.

"Can't you offer any more help than that?" he asked, trying to sound disappointed, needy and hopeful all at once. 

"You can sometimes see through them - I mean, literally," offered Hermione.

"And they will never say they're a ghost," Draco pointed out. "They'll assume they are as real as anyone else and that the fact that you're talking to them proves it. But they aren't always translucent, so I don't think you can release a poster saying that unless you can see through them these scammers aren't ghosts."

Hermione pondered for a moment. "You could just issue a general warning," she said. "Tell people there are self-identified ghosts running a pickpocket racket in the streets, and warning them not to listen to anyone offering any kind of guided tour unless it's provided by a legitimate agency."

"Thus depriving a lot of students of the chance to pick up a bit of extra pocket money," said James. "They won't all register with an agency. And these con-artists are clever. They don't suggest the ghost theory till they're certain they have their audience hooked."

"Maybe you just have to rely on people's common sense and perhaps their feeling for their civic duty of unmasking and reporting these cases," said Draco. "Have you got descriptions?"

"Those would be useless." Hermione smiled. "They'll take care to alter their appearance each time."

"In any case, why are you taking an interest? They haven't murdered anyone, have they?" Draco seemed to think picking pockets should be beneath his cousin's consideration. 

"Not yet," said James,” but Chief Superintendent Innocent thinks it's only a matter of time before someone has a heart attack, gets into a fight with them, or something similar, and wants the entire thing nipped in the bud. By us," he added. 

"How are you supposed to go about that?" Draco was often fascinated by muggle police procedure even while he pretended it was all idiotic.

"We've been going through the reports," James said. "Looking for patterns. We might be able to predict where they'll strike next but at the moment it seems like a bit of a forlorn hope."

"I hope you catch them." Hermione's words were polite but her tone suggested she didn't believe it would happen.

"I don't see why you bother," said Draco. "I really don't. If you took my advice..."

"...I'd be thoroughly into the wizarding world, probably training as an auror," said James. "The trouble with that scenario..."

"...is that Robbie wouldn't be able to join you." His visitors spoke together. They both knew him well.

lhlhlhlhlhlhlhlhlhllhlhlhlhllhlhlhlh

"Ha!" Robbie sounded excited and relieved. James looked up from his desk, wanting to share whatever it was. Late Tuesday morning was rarely an occasion for such glee.

"They've got him!" Robbie was profoundly satisfied. "Uniform picked him just now. Pure co-incidence. It was P.C. Anstruther's day off and she was showing her sister round Oxford. Somehow they tagged onto one of these tourist parties who were clutching maps and leaflets rather than having an official guide and then the con-man came and made his play. She texted Peterson - and no, don't ask why she had his number in her phone - and he sent a couple of PCs to join her. One grabbed the fellow just before he seemed likely to do his disappearing act, and the other collared a shifty looking bloke on the outskirts of the group - found a few wallets in his shoulder bag and identified the owners. Innocent will be thrilled to bits."

"Apart from the fact that it was our task and we seem to have been sidelined," muttered James. "And do we know," he asked, a little louder, "whether this is just a two man operation or whether there are more of them out there? Those reports suggested that whoever it was managed to be in at least a couple of places at once."

"Peterson's interviewing them at the moment. As to the possibility of more, I'm not too sure. I think a lot of the reports were a bit hazy about time and even location. People on holiday tend not to notice the exact time, and tourists in a strange place sometimes get their whereabouts confused. Anyway, I'll go down and help interview - that'll bring us back into the picture so far as Innocent's concerned, and frankly, I think her main interest is in stopping this whole thing in its tracks. It's Hallowe'en tonight and we'll have enough bother with all the kids darting about in the dark without adding fake phantoms to the mix."

"Want me to come?"

"No. Peterson's being a real eager beaver over this. Let's give him his moment of glory. I'll go and help; you finish up here and I'll see you at the pub. We deserve a pie and a pint for lunch in celebration. "

"The Bird? Or the other one over the road?"

"The Bird. Better pies. I'll be about an hour." Lewis headed for the interview rooms and James, after finishing typing a report, closed down what he was doing and left the room.

lhlhlhlhlhlhlhlhlhlh

The Eagle and Child, often known simply as The Bird, was an 'olde worlde' whitewashed pub on St Giles. It was very much on the tourist trail, for its history and its ambience as well as its beers and its menu, but despite the constant flow of new faces, James and Robbie found it comfortable and relaxing. 

It was raining slightly as James reached the door and he was relieved to enter the warm, welcoming bar area. He ordered a drink, hung his coat over the back of a chair and settled down to wait. He knew Robbie would be a while but he enjoyed watching the other customers and simply sat back, observing. 

A slight movement to his right made him realise someone had taken a seat at his table, unusual in that there were plenty of unoccupied places in the room. It was mid-term, not mid-season, and whilst there were plenty of tourists around they would probably be outdoors making the most of the daylight, only seeking the bars at dusk. He glanced at his new companion. A craggy-faced man with a pleasant expression, bushy eyebrows and a large nose looked back at him. 

"Are you here for the meeting?" the stranger asked.

“No, what meeting?" James' heart sank. If there was a meeting, however informal or impromptu, it might be advisable to leave the bar but he couldn't very well do that until Robbie arrived. He couldn't even text him while he was interviewing, unless it was urgent, and a change of lunch venue wouldn't really count. He foresaw himself standing damply on the pavement, waiting. 

"So you aren't, or you'd know," said the other. "Only I thought you looked the type."

James forbore to ask what type. Policeman? Intellectual? It hardly mattered. "I'm waiting for a friend," he offered.

"Oh, so am I, so am I," said the stranger. "I'm expecting Lewis any minute now."

It took a few moments of confusion and cross purposes before they established that James was waiting for a Robbie Lewis and the stranger, who name turned out to be John, though James was unsure why they'd introduced themselves, was waiting for a Clive Lewis. Perhaps the meeting was a very small one, thought James, becoming hopeful.

They chatted while they waited for their respective Lewises. John, it turned out, met Clive every Tuesday, and they often had a few other like-minded people who joined them. He didn't say what they were like-minded about and James didn't admit to his detective status. They talked about the pub, and how comfortable it was, about the weather, and then about the beer. Suddenly a racket started up outside and they glanced out of the window to see workmen - probably using a digger of some kind but at any rate assiduously digging a hole. There was no machinery visible but James assumed the noise indicated there was plenty of it just out of sight. 

"A hole in the ground," murmured John, and then, "That makes me think of the opening of a book. In a hole in the ground there lived a, a, a..." Before James could join in, John said, "...a rabbit!" with a pleased look as if he'd just pulled the aforementioned rabbit out of a hat.

"Surely," said James, somewhat faintly, wondering where this man had been for the last fifty years or so, "it's a hobbit?"

"I beg your pardon?" John looked genuinely enquiring.

"It's 'In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit'," James explained. 

John clapped his hands together. "How absolutely splendid!" he said. "That will do very nicely, and you really must join us, James. And your friend Robbie, of course. I'm sure he's a marvellous chap too."

"What is it you do at your meetings?" asked James, beginning to get an inkling of where this was going. An inkling that worried him. 

"Well, we write a little, we discuss and read our writings, and sometimes we read other people's stuff. Not always kindly, I'm afraid."

James' first reaction was to check his pocket. His wallet seemed to be intact. His coat was still hanging on the back of his chair and in any case contained nothing of any value. 

"You do realise," he began, using his policeman's voice rather than the more casual tones of a chatty stranger, "that there are more of you out there..."

"Of course, dear boy!" John beamed. "I should hope there are plenty. The city must be full of us, I should think. It's Oxford, after all!"

More confusion? More cross purposes? Before he could phrase a question that would settle the matter, James saw John wave to a figure silhouetted against the door.

"Over here, Clive," he called, quite loudly. And Clive moved towards them. Except that in the open doorway, through the shadow that was Clive, James could see the workmen, and the digger, now that the door was open and the field of vision was not so restricted. 

"I'll leave you to wait for your Robbie," said John, genially, "but do join us over by the window if you both want to. I can promise you an entertaining lunchtime." With that, he leaned across and shook James' hand, grabbing it despite the fact that it hadn't been offered. His grip was firm and quite solid. He pushed his chair back and rose, holding his beer glass by the handle and moving to join his shadowy friend. As he walked away, James could hear him murmuring again, "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit," and then chuckling to himself. 

As he reached Clive, there was some kind of disturbance at the bar, a customer querying the price of beer or the lack of an advertised brew, and James looked that way for a moment involuntarily. When he looked back, John and Clive had both disappeared, and Robbie was striding towards him. He checked his wallet again and was not sure whether he felt relieved to find it still in his pocket. 

"Sorry I've been so long," said Robbie as he joined him. "But it's all sorted and Innocent is pleased." He looked at James, expecting some kind of reaction and noticed his obvious unease. "What's the matter, lad? You look as if you've seen a ghost!"

"I'm not really sure," said James, slowly. "I think..." He stopped. It would be hard to explain, but later, he would try. For now, he felt in need of a stiff drink. "I think," he continued, as if it had been what he meant to say all along, "that if you're getting a drink, you could get me..."

"...your usual?"

"No, not my usual. I need something stronger. A double brandy might be just the thing. Spirits, anyway." Robbie raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering whether brandy was the right accompaniment for pie and chips. 

“Something must have happened between the station and here to make you even paler than usual,” he said as he went to order anyway. “If you need spirits, I won’t argue, but I warn you I’ll need the whole story later.” He grinned. 

"I need to text Draco," said James to himself, getting out his phone. And he wondered why his cousin was the first person he thought of telling. Something to do with the stories he'd heard about Hogwarts, he supposed. Then he recoiled as a couple of students entered the bar, already dressed up for Hallowe'en despite the fact that it was only lunchtime. The girl was a witch, though James could have told her the robes were all wrong, and the boy was a skeleton, white bones painted meticulously on a black T-shirt and leggings. Solid though, and mundane under all the make-up.

Robbie came back with the drinks and the barman followed with their pies. 

"I see Hallowe'en's started early," said Robbie, grinning as he handed over the brandy. 

"Earlier than you thought," said James. "Much earlier."

**Author's Note:**

> The Inklings met on Tuesdays at midday at a local public house, The Eagle and Child, familiarly and alliteratively known in the Oxford community as The Bird and Baby, or simply The Bird. Later pub meetings were at The Lamb and Flag across the street, and in earlier years they also met irregularly in yet other pubs, but The Eagle and Child is the best known.
> 
> 31st Oct last fell on a Tuesday in 2006. The first episode of Lewis aired in 2006 so events the events portrayed must have been at least a couple of years earlier. Therefore 2006 as a date for this 'case' would take us into season 3 or 4 which is about right for my AU. 
> 
> Humfrey (Duke of Gloucester). This is not a typo (which Word seems to think). It is the mediaeval spelling and the one preferred by http://www.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/bodley/about-us/history


End file.
